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Book y ji 5 



COnUKlHT DEPOSIT. 




By KATHERINE M. YATES 


What the Pine Tree Heard. Strathmore 
booklet, postpaid, 50 cents. 

The Grey Story Book. Octavo, boards, 
postpaid, 50 cents. 

On the Way There. Octavo, white leather- 
ette, postpaid, 50 cents. 

At the Door. Octavo, tan leatherette, post- 
paid, 50 cents. 

Through the Woods. Octavo, green leather- 
ette, postpaid, 50 cents. 


K. M. YATES & CO. 

5340 Cornell Avenue, Chicago 


THROUGH THE WOODS 


A LITTLE TALE IN WHICH THERE 
IS MORE THAN MEETS 
THE EYE 


BV 

KATHERINE M. YATES 

Author of “On the Way There,” “At the Door,” 
“What the Pine Tree Heard,” etc. 





CHICAGO 

K. M. YATES & COMPANY 
1906 








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Copyright, 1906 
BY 

KATHERINE M. YATES 


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R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


THROUGH THE WOODS 


“Open your eyes and shut your mouth,” said 
the little brown Dream. 

“Why, that isn’t the way to say it ! ” exclaimed 
Marjorie. 

“Well, it’s the way to keep you from snor- 
ing, anyhow,” said the Dream. 

“But I wasn’t snoring,” protested Marjorie. 

“Are you in a position to know whether you 
were snoring or not?” asked the Dream. 

Marjorie hesitated. 

“Now, I’ll tell you something,” said the 
Dream. “It is a poor plan to start an argu- 
ment unless you are positive that you are in 
just as good a position to hold an opinion as the' 
fellow who has the other side of the question. 
Otherwise you are beaten at the start. 

Marjorie bit her lip. “Well,” she said, at 
last, “you didn’t have the rhyme right, any- 
way.” 

“Why isn’t it right?” asked the Dream. 

“It’s:— 


5 


6 


"Through the Woods 

‘ Open your mouth and shut your eyes 
And ril give you something to make you wise.’ ” 

“Nonsense!” said the Dream. “If you’d 
try it the other way — ‘Open your eyes and 
shut your mouth’ — you’d find that you didn’t 
need anything ‘ to make you wise.’ ” 

Marjorie pondered for a moment. “Perhaps 
you are right,” she said, finally. “I’m sure 
I’ve had more trouble through opening my 
mouth than I ever had through keeping it 
shut.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” said the Dream. 

“And of course,” went on Marjorie, “I see 
more with my eyes open, my thinking eyes, I 
mean, than I do with them shut.” 

The Dream nodded. 

“But,” she added, “the rhyme says that I’ll 
be given something if I do the other way.” 

“Don’t you ever believe it,” said the Dream. 
“ It says that, because ‘ wise ’ rhymes with ‘ eyes.’ 
Don’t you ever believe anything just because 
it sounds pretty and rhymes; and don’t you 
ever believe that you’ll get anything to make 
you wise while you have your mental eyes 
shut. If a plum lands anywhere near to that 
poen mouth, it is pretty sure to hit one of 


'Through the Woods 7 

those closed eyes hard enough to set you to 
thinking.” 

Marjorie nodded her head several times. “I 
see,” said she; “but then, it doesn’t apply to 
me, for I always have my eyes open.” 

“Do you?” said the Dream, with a provok- 
ing grin. 

” Why, of course I do,” said Marjorie. ” I see 
just about everything that’s going on. 

“You didn’t see your brother a moment ago, 
when we passed him in the road.” 

“My brother!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Why, 
I haven’t any brother! ” and she looked all about 
and up and down the pleasant country road 
along which she now noticed, for the first "time, 
that they were traveling. 

“ No ? ” said the Dream, aggravatingly . ‘ ‘Who 
is that sitting back there by the tree?” 

Marjorie looked, and saw, a short distance 
behind them, a small boy sitting by the way- 
side with his face in his hands. He looked so 
pathetic and crouched so forlornly, that Marjorie 
turned and went back. “ What is the matter? ” 
she asked, as she approached him. 

The boy looked up, and she saw that his face 
was weary and his mouth quivering with pain. 


8 T^hrough the Woods 

'‘I’ve walked a very long way,” he said, ‘‘and 
I’ve miles and miles farther to go, and my shoes 
have given out, and there were sharp stones in 
the road, and my feet — ” he bit his lip and 
dropped his face in his hands again. 

Marjorie glanced at his feet and her face paled 
a little; then, resolutely, she sat down upon a 
log and began taking off her own shoes. The 
boy was much smaller than herself, and she 
saw that he could wear them easily. When 
she had removed them, she went softly and 
placed them close beside him, and then ran 
lightly away over the smooth grass of the way- 
side. 

The Dream was waiting for her a little way 
down the road. ‘‘So you saw your brother, 
after all, did you?” he remarked. 

‘‘My brother?” said Marjorie. ‘‘Why, he 
isn’t my brother! I never even saw him before.” 

‘‘ Isn’t he your brother? ” persisted the Dream. 
‘‘Think a little.” 

Marjorie sat down by the roadside. She 
had come to the conclusion that it was always 
worth while to think when the Dream advised 
her to. After a while she looked up, and her 
face was very tender and sweet. ‘‘Yes,” she 


Through the Woods g 

said, “he is my brother. The Good Father 
belongs to us both.” 

The Dream nodded. “You think quicker 
than you used to,” he said. “Come, let’s be 
moving on.’’ 

In a little while they came to a very rough 
and stony hill; but Marjorie, busily talking to 
the Dream, did not notice it particularly until 
they were more than half-way down it; then 
she stopped short and stared at her feet. 

“What’s the matter?’’ asked the Dream. 

“Why, my shoes!’’ exclaimed Marjorie. 

“Well, what about them?’’ asked the Dream. 
“They look like very good shoes.’’ 

“But,’’ cried Marjorie, excitedly, “I gave my 
shoes to the little boy! Where did these come 
from?’’ 

The Dream shrugged his shoulders. “How 
should I know?’’ he said, carelessly. “Come, 
let’s not loiter.’’ 

“But,’’ persisted Marjorie, standing still, “I 
tell you I gave mine to the little boy.’’ 

“Well, what if you did?’’ said the Dream. 
“These are just as good, aren’t they?’’ 

“Yes — yes, indeed — they’re better; they’re 
perfectly new; but where did they come from?’’ 


10 


’Through the Woods 

The Dream heaved a sigh and perched him- 
self upon the top rail of the fence. “My dear,” 
he said, “what is the difference where they 
came from? They are, unquestionably, in- 
tended for you, or they wouldn’t be on your 
feet. What more do you want ? ” 

“I want to know where they came from,” 
reiterated Marjorie. 

“Why?” asked the Dream, “if they are per- 
fectly satisfactory ? ” 

“Why, I — I want to understand,” replied 
Marjorie. “ I can’t go on until I know.” 

The Dream made a funny little face. “You’re 
a queer girl,” he said. “You’re not at all con- 
sistent.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Marjorie. 

“Well, you have a watch, haven’t you?” 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, glancing at the little 
time-piece pinned to her dress. 

“Does it keep good time?” 

“Perfect,” replied Marjorie. 

“And do you understand all about its inside 
workings?” 

Marjorie hesitated. “Why, there’s a main- 
spring, and some other springs, and some wheels, 
and — ” 


Through the Woods n 

“But you don’t understand exactly how the 
mainspring, and the other springs, and the 
wheels, work together to make the watch say 
half-past three at exactly the right time?’’ 

“N-no,’’ said Marjorie. 

“But you notice that it does it just the same, 
whether you understand the process or not.’’ 

“Yes,’’ admitted Marjorie. 

“And the fact that you don’t understand 
doesn’t stop the mainspring, nor the other 
springs, nor the wheels?’’ 

“No.’’ 

“But you just depend upon it, and let the 
works take care of themselves?’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“Well, now, in this other matter, you know 
there’s God, and His power, and His laws. 
Can’t you depend upon Him to keep you from 
suffering when you do a kind action? ’’ 

“Ye-s-s,’’ hesitated Marjorie. 

“And supposing that you don’t understand 
exactly the way that He brings things about, 
can’t you place as much confidence in Him as 
you do in your watch? Because you don’t 
quite understand how He does a thing, can’t 
keep Him from doing it, can it? ’’ 


12 


Through the JVoods 

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Marjorie. 

“Do you know,” said the Dream, clasping 
his hands about his knees in his favorite attitude , 
“ I have known people to ask God for something, 
and then sit down and say, ‘Well, it can’t 
come about in this way, and it can’t come about 
in that way, and I don’t see how it can come 
about in some other way,* and they would get 
so interested in contemplating the ways that 
it couldn't come, that when it did come, likely 
as not they were too much occupied to even 
see it.” 

“But,” said Marjorie, “isn’t it right to want 
to know the way that good things come to us?” 

“It surely is,” said the Dream; “but if you 
don’t grasp the combination right off, don’t 
just stand still in the middle of the road and 
worry about the good that’s come to you, only 
because you don’t yet know enough to under- 
stand exactly how it reached you. Take it, 
and use it, and study it, and gain confidence by 
it; and in the mean time don’t loiter; but do 
the work that comes to your hand.” 

Marjorie walked slowly on. “‘God works in 
a mysterious way,’” she murmured. 

“It isn’t really mysterious,” protested the 


through the JVoods 13 

Dream; “only you don’t fully understand yet, 
any more than you do about your watch. It 
is all according to unvarying laws. When 
you do a good deed, you work according to 
those laws, and you can depend upon the re- 
sult infinitely more surely than you can depend 
upon the works of your watch.’’ 

Marjorie nodded her head gravely. “ I see,” 
she said; “but you talk to me so differently 
from the way you used to.” 

“You’re growing,’’ said the Dream, “and — ’’ 

But Marjorie held up her finger. “Listen,” 
she said, and presently they heard again the 
sound which had attracted her attention, and 
recognized it as a sob. 

Marjorie peered over the railing of a small 
bridge which they were crossing, and down on 
the bank of the narrow stream she saw a little 
girl crying bitterly. 

Marjorie ran down the bank. “What is the 
trouble ?” she asked, sitting down beside the child. 

“I’ve lost my hat,” said the little girl, still 
sobbing. “It blew into the creek as I was 
crossing the bridge, and it must have floated 
down the stream, for I can’t find it anywhere, 
and I don’t know what to do.” 


14 


Through the Woods 

“Have you far to go?" asked Marjorie, no- 
ticing that the child’s face was already burned 
by the sun, and her eyes red from crying. 

“Yes, more than three miles farther," sobbed 
the little girl, “ and my eyes are so dazzled that 
I can scarcely see anything now." 

“But the road is shady," suggested Marjorie. 

“Oh, I can’t go by the road!" cried the little 
girl. “It’s twice as far that way, and I am 
tired out already. I have to go across the 
meadows, and the sun is dreadfully hot. I 
don’t know what I shall do;" and she began 
sobbing harder than ever. 

Marjorie took off her own hat. “I am going 
by the road," she said, “and it enters the woods 
just beyond the bridge, and is shady as far as 
I can see, so you may have my hat." 

The child hesitated ; but Marjorie laughingly 
placed it upon her head and scrambled hastily 
up the bank, waving her hand merrily from the 
top. 

“So you found another of your relations, did 
you?" said the Dream, dropping nimbly from 
his perch upon the railing of the bridge, as she 
joined him. 

Marjorie laughed happily. ‘ ‘ My hair is thick, 


"Through the Woods 15 

she said; putting her hand up to the crop of 
curls, and then she caught her breath. She 
still wore a hat. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. 

“Forgot about the returns, did you?” said 
the Dream. 

” Yes,” said Marjorie, softly, ” I didn’t think 
about expecting another, — and this is even 
prettier than mine,” she added, examining the 
hat curiously and reverently; and then, with a 
little sigh, “I will be so glad when I understand.” 

Just beyond where the road entered the 
woods, they caught up with an old man who 
was walking very slowly and leaning heavily 
upon a cane. He was tall and thin, and he 
held his head high, although his steps were 
blow and his limbs trembled beneath him. 
Marjorie looked up with a bright smile, as 
they passed ; but her expression suddenly 
sobered as she noticed the extreme palor and 
weariness in his face. ” He ought to rest,” she 
said to the Dream. “ Perhaps I can get him to,” 
and she stopped and sat down upon a fallen 
tree. 

A^s the old man approached, she arose to her 
feet. “Haven’t you time to talk to me for a 


1 6 through the Woods 

little while?” she asked. “I’m going to rest for 
a few minutes, and I would like, so much, to 
have company.” 

The old man hesitated; but the bright little 
face was coaxing, and the log looked soft and 
mossy, so he smiled and sat down, heaving a 
deep sigh as his tired limbs relaxed. 

“Have you come far?” asked Marjorie. 

“Yes, a long, a very long way,” said the old 
man. 

“And are you near the end of your journey? ” 
asked Marjorie. 

“No,” the old man shook his head somberly. 
“There are a great many miles still to go.” 

“Then why don’t you ride?” asked Marjorie. 
“There is a stage passing every little while.” 

The old man did not reply for a moment, and 
a flush crept up over his pale face. “I — I am 
not prepared to pay for the trip,” he said, at 
last, passing a trembling hand across his mouth. 

Marjorie bit her lip, and her hand went into 
her pocket to where lay a big silver dollar and 
a bright little five-dollar gold piece. First her 
fingers touched the dollar; but only for an in- 
stant, and then they closed about the gold coin ; 
but still she hesitated, looking into the old man’s 


"Through the Woods 17 

face. At last she spoke, timidly. “Would you 
let me help you?” she asked. 

“What do you mean?” inquired the old man, 
almost sharply. 

“Why, I — I would like, so much, to have 
you ride, and I have money — ” 

But the old man interrupted her. “No,” he said, 
coldly, and starting to rise, “ I am not a beggar.” 

Marjorie caught his hand. “Oh, please don’t 
be angry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt 
you, I only wanted to be of some use. You 
could just think of it as a loan, you know, and 
pay it back by and by.” 

“I don’t know when I could pay it back,” 
said the old man, moodily. “Perhaps I never 
could, so it would be nothing but charity, after 
all. No, I cannot take it.” 

But Marjoie clung to his hand. “Listen 
just a minute,” she said. “You could be pay- 
ing it back all the time.” 

“How?” asked the old man. 

“By doing things for people,” said Marjorie. 
“There is always some one that we can help, 
you know; and if you would only let me do 
this for you, then you could pay me by doing 
something for some one else whenever you have 


1 8 through the Woods 

a chance; and then it wouldn’t be what you 
call ‘charity’ at all.” 

The old man sat back on the log and looked 
at Marjorie, curiously. ‘‘You are a strange 
little girl,” he said. 

‘‘And will you take it?” asked Marjorie, 
eagerly, holding out the gold piece. 

‘‘Yes,” he said, very gravely, ‘‘Twill take it 
as a loan, and I will pay a part of the debt every 
day of my life. I thank you for a great deal 
more than the gold piece, little one.” 

Marjorie patted the wrinkled hand. ‘‘ Good- 
by,” she said. ‘‘The stage will be along in a 
little while, and you had better rest here until 
it comes,” and she kissed her hand to him as 
she ran to join the Dream. 

Looking back a few minutes later, she saw 
the old man bend down from his seat and take 
up a little stray kitten and begin to feed it 
from a paper parcel that he carried, and she 
smiled softly to herself; and some time later, 
when the crowded stage-coach passed them, 
and the old man leaned out to wave his hand, 
she saw that on his knees he held a child 
whose tired little head rested against his 
shoulder. 


'Through the Woods 19 

“He will soon have the debt paid,” said 
Marjorie, clapping her hands gently together. 

“He will never have it paid,” said the Dream. 

“Why?” asked Marjorie, in surprise. 

“Because,” answered the Dream, “every 
kindness that he does, will so much more than 
pay for itself, that the debt to you will grow 
and grow, and never stop growing, although he 
should return to you ten thousand times the 
amount of money that you loaned him.” 

“Dear me, what a very rich person I am!” 
exclaimed Morjorie, smiling happily. 

“Yes,” said the Dream, “you made a very 
good investment; but you can’t comer the 
kindness market. There’s too much competi- 
tion these days.” 

Marjorie laughed again. “I don’t want to,” 
she said. “The more there are in that buisness, 
the better.” 

Just then the sun went under a cloud, and 
the deep shade of the tall pine-trees, among 
which the road now wound, made the air seem 
chilly, and Marjorie took her cloak from her 
arm and began to put it on. As she did so, a 
sudden thought came to her, and she looked the 
cloak over, critically. She had never been 


20 Through the Woods 

exactly pleased with it, and now it was a trifle 
too small for her, and she did not like to wear 
it. She thought of the pretty new hat and 
shoes, and glanced at the Dream guiltily; but 
he did not seem to be noticing, and she set her 
chin with a determined air, although her face 
was a trifle flushed. 

They met several people as they walked along ; 
but all seemed to be warmly dressed, and a 
little frown came between Marjorie’s eyebrows. 

Presently, however, they met a little girl who 
had no cloak ; but her dress seemed warm, and 
she looked quite comfortable. Marjorie hurried 
up to her. “Aren’t you cold?’’ she asked, 
beginning to unbutton her cloak. 

“No,’’ said the little girl, “I am not at all 
cold.’’ 

“But you have no cloak,’’ urged Marjorie. 

“I don’t mind,’’ said the little girl. “I’ll 
soon be out of the woods, and my dress is warm.” 

“But you ought to have a cloak,’’ persisted 
Marjorie. 

“Well, I haven’t one,’’ answered the little 
girl, rather crossly. 

“You may have mine,’’ said Marjorie, holding 
it out to her. 


"Through the JVoods 21 

The little girl looked surprised. “Don’t you 
want it, yourself ?’’ she asked. “Your dress is 
thin.’’ 

“I’d rather you’d have it,’’ said Marjorie, 
hurriedly; and leaving it in the hands of the 
astonished little girl she ran after the Dream. 

Neither of them spoke for some time after 
she had joined him, and Marjorie kept glancing 
down stealthily, in search of the new cloak. 
Presently she began to shiver. The Dream 
giggled . ‘ ‘ Are you cold ? ’ ’ he asked . 

“Yes,’’ said Marjorie, in a very low voice. 

“Why did you give away your cloak?’’ asked 
the Dream. 

“The little girl had none,’’ said Marjorie, in 
a still lower tone. 

“And you wanted to do a kindness?’’ asked 
the Dream, with a funny little quirk at the 
comer of his mouth. 

Marjorie was silent. 

“Still learning things, aren’t you?’’ asked the 
Dream. 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, her teeth chattering. 

“What did you learn this time?” 

Marjorie bit her lip for a moment, and her 
eyes were brimming when she answered, still in 


2 2 "Through the JVoods 

a low voice: “That it isn’t what you do, but 
the thought with which you do it, that makes 
a kindness.’’ 

The Dream nodded. “You’re growing wiser 
every minute,’’ he said. 

“It’s costing considerable,’’ said Marjorie, 
with a shaky little laugh. 

They walked on as rapidly as possible, and 
Marjorie tried to forget the cold by taking an 
interest in the flowers by the wayside and the 
squirrels and birds in the woods; and she had 
nearly succeeded when they came to a place 
where was being erected a beautiful rest-house 
beside the way. She stopped to admire the 
artistic carvings, and graceful arches, and the 
comfortable seats and fountains of cool water. 

“Who is giving this building to the travelers ? ’’ 
she asked of one of the workmen. 

“All who pass this way and wish to help,” 
replied the man, pointing to a box standing upon 
a stone pedestal. 

Marjorie approached the box, and looking 
within she saw a heap of bills and coins. Slip- 
ping her hand into her pocket, she drew out her 
big silver dollar and deposited it with the rest. 

The Dream looked at her curiously when she 


"Through the Woods 23 

had rejoined him. “You gave your dollar, 
didn’t you?’’ he asked, after a time. 

“Yes,” said Marjorie. 

And what do you expect in return ? Five ? ’ ’ 

Marjorie’s lip trembled. “No,” she said. “I 
don’t care whether anything at all comes in 
return. I only wanted to help.’’ 

“Why,’’ asked the Dream. 

“Because the beautiful rest-house will be a 
comfort to so many, every one who comes this 
way, and the more beautiful it is, the more it 
will show the generosity and love of all of us. 
I gave to it because I loved to give to it. 

“I guess you’ll not lose anything this time,’’ 
said the Dream, quietly. 

A few moments later they came upon a group 
of children gathered about some one sitting 
upon a little knoll by the wayside. The “some 
one’’ was a very pretty little girl about five 
years old, whom they were petting and admir- 
ing; and as Marjorie approached, she found 
that they were all engaged in giving things to 
her. One had placed a great bunch of roses 
in her lap, and another had given a box of 
candy, and others ribbons and toys. 


24 through the Woods 

“Why are you giving her these things ? “ asked 
Marjorie. 

“Oh, because she’s so sweet,” answered one 
of the children. “Isn’t she pretty? and aren’t 
her curls lovely? We’ve every one of us given 
her something. I gave her the ribbon off of my 
hair,” and she looked at Marjorie expectantly. 

Marjorie felt in her pocket; but there was 
nothing there that she could give, and now 
more of the children were looking at her. She 
put her hand to her neck where was the slender 
gold chain which she prized almost more than 
anything else that she owned. All of the chil- 
dren were looking at her now, so she unfastened 
the chain, and going forward she clasped it about 
the neck of the pretty little girl. It was far 
nicer than anything that the others had given, 
and Marjorie felt a little thrill of pride as she 
stepped back to see the effect; and then, while 
the other children were clapping their hands 
and kissing the pretty child, she turned away — 
with a lump in her throat. 

As usual, she and her companion walked some 
distance in silence. Presently the Dream spoke. 
“Would you mind telling me why you did that ? ” 
he asked. 


"Through the Woods 25 

\ 

Marjorie hung her head. “Every one else 
was giving her something,” she said. 

“And you think that a good reason?” asked 
the Dream. 

“No-o,” said Marjorie. 

“Do you expect another chain?” asked the 
Dream. 

“No,” said Marjorie, “I don’t.” 

“She didn’t need the chain, did she?” asked 
the Dream. 

“No,” said Marjorie; “but I just hated not 
to give anything when all the rest were giving. 
And she didn’t even say ‘ Thank you, ’ either,” 
she added, resentfully. 

“ I suppose that you like yourself better 
for having given it, though?” hazarded the 
Dream. 

“No, I don’t,” said Marjorie. “It was the 
silliest thing I ever did, and I deserve to lose 
the chain.” 

“Yes,” said the Dream, quietly, “I think 
you do. You seem to be foolish about some 
things still. Perhaps you are like certain folks 
I know, and if some one came along and gave 
you a big purple parasol that you didn’t want 
and couldn’t carry without trouble, you’d im- 


26 "through the Woods 

mediately think you had to give her your 
dress, just to get even.” 

“I suppose I would if you hadn’t mentioned 
it,” said Marjorie, meekly. 

At this moment there came a great clattering 
and shouting behind them, and Marjorie and 
the Dream stepped to one side of the road, out 
of the way of a small boy and a very unruly 
calf which he was trying to drive. He had a 
rope attached to the creature’s neck; but its 
great activity had dragged the line through his 
hands until they were blistered and flayed. Just 
after passing them he managed to take a turn 
about a young tree by the wayside, and by so 
doing, to bring the unruly calf to a stop; and 
thereupon he began rubbing and blowing upon 
his injured hands. 

“He is my brother, isn’t he?” said Marjorie 
to the Dream, beginning to remove her gloves. 

The Dream nodded his head. 

Just then a carriage came in sight around a 
bend in the road, and in it were two handsomely 
dressed ladies. The carriage was driving slowly, 
and Marjorie became more deliberate in her 
movements; but at last the gloves were off, 
and just as the carriage was abreast of them, 


T^hrough the Woods 27 

she stepped up to the small boy, holding them 
out and smiling kindly. 

“Here, little boy,” she said, distinctly, “take 
my gloves. You need them more than I do.” 

The boy accepted the gift with much gratitude, 
and Marjorie walked on with her head quite 
high in the air. 

“Don’t you wish that your arms were 
longer?” asked the Dream, presently. 

“Why?” asked Marjorie in surprise. 

“So that you could pat yourself on the back.” 

Marjorie flushed. “You are unkind,” she 
said, in a hurt tone. “I really did give them 
because the boy needed them.” 

“I know it,” said the Dream; “but, never- 
theless, there was, in the end, what I should 
call a mixed motive. But never mind, you 
have your new gloves.” 

Marjorie glanced down at her hands, and sure 
enough, there were gloves; but such gloves! 
Soiled, ragged, and ill-fitting! 

Marjorie bit her lip as she looked at them. 
“Do you think that was fair?” she asked, at 
last. “My first thought was good.” 

“Well,” said the Dream, “I think you got 
just about what was coming to you. Those 


28 "Through the Woods 

will keep your hands warm enough, and you 
learned something, didn’t you?” 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, soberly, “I learned 
what comes of giving ‘ to be seen of men ’ ; but — 
but things hurt so!” 

The Dream slipped his hand into hers for a 
moment. “It hurts to have a tooth pulled,” 
he said; “but it can’t ache after it’s out.” 

Marjorie laughed a little, chokily. “I’m 
having some of my bad thoughts pulled,” she 
said, “and I guess I’m glad, even if it does hurt 
some.” 

A short distance farther on, Marjorie noticed 
a little girl walking along on the other side of 
the road. She was walking slowly, with her 
head down, and did not look toward them or 
appear to be conscious of their presence. As 
they drew near, Marjorie saw that her dress, 
although of good material and prettily made, 
was dreadfully soiled and dirty, as if she had 
fallen in the mud, and that her hands and face 
bore similar marks. In fact, she looked so un- 
attractive that Marjorie was beginning to be 
rather glad that she had not noticed them, 
when she raised her head and turned her face 
in their direction. It was not a pleasant face. 


"Through the IVoods 29 

and looked hard and bitter, and there were 
soiled streaks upon the cheeks where tears had 
been wiped away with grimy hands. Marjorie 
shrank back a little ; but the girl did not speak 
nor make any motion of coming nearer; only 
turned away her head again, holding it quite 
high now, and with her lips pressed tightly 
together. 

Marjorie walked along slowly for a little way, 
then she stopped. “Fm going over there,” 
she said to the Dream, and quietly crossing the 
road, she approached the little girl. “May I 
walk with you?” she asked. 

The little girl did not turn her head or reply, 
but kept on her way, looking straight before her. 

Marjorie caught step and walked beside her, 
silently. Presently she noticed that the tears 
were again running down the cheeks of her com- 
panion; but still she did not speak or turn 
her head. 

Marjorie made a movement to come nearer, 
and then hesitated, for the soiled garments and 
hands made her dread closer contact; but she 
hesitated for only a moment, and then slipped 
her hand into that of the little girl. Still the 
child did not turn her face; but her fingers 


30 


Through the IVoods 

tightened over Marjorie’s, and with her other 
hand she wiped away the tears, which were 
coming faster. 

For a long time they walked on in silence, 
and at last they came to a parting of the ways, 
and then the little girl released Marjorie’s hand 
and turned her face, and Marjorie saw that all 
of the hardness and the bitterness had gone 
out of it. 

“Good-by,” said the little girl, “and thank 
you — dear.” 

“Good-by,” said Marjorie, lovingly. “lam 
glad that we walked together,” and with a 
parting smile she ran back to the Dream. 

He greeted her cheerfully. “Been repairing 
your gloves, have you?” he asked, grinning. 

“ I guess I soiled them considerably more than 
they were,” said Marjorie, glancing down at 
the one which had held the little girl’s hand, 
and then she uttered an exclamation; for in- 
stead of being grimy and ragged, it had become 
white and whole, and fitted her hand perfectly. 

“But — but I gave nothing,” she said to the 
Dream, in surprise. 

“Did’nt you?” asked the Dream. “Are you 
sure?” 


through the Woods 31 

“No,” Marjorie shook her head, positively. 
“I didn’t give her a thing.” 

“I think that you did,” said the Dream. 
“ I think that you gave her a great deal. 
You gave her your hand, and that was what 
she needed more than anything else in the 
world.” 

Marjorie bent her head. “Perhaps it was,” 
she said, softly. 

And now a very cold wind began to blow 
through the tall pines, and Marjorie began to 
shiver once more, and her teeth to chatter. It 
seemed almost cold enough to snow, and the 
wind whirled her thin skirts about her and cut 
through her flimsy sleeves. She hugged her 
arms closely to her in a vain effort to keep 
warm; but she made no complaint. 

Presently they saw, plodding along before 
them, a woman carrying a baby in her arms 
and leading by the hand a three-year-old boy. 
The youngster was very thinly clad, and his 
ittle bare feet and limbs were purple with the 
cold, and he was crying piteously. 

Marjorie turned away her face as she passed 
them, her lips quivering and her eyes full of 
tears; but a moment later she stopped and 


32 


l^hrough the Woods 

turned back, and taking the little child in her 
arms, she wrapped him in her skirt as well as 
she could, and holding him close to her breast, 
she walked along silently between the mother 
and the Dream 

The child stopped crying quickly and snuggled 
down close to her, and very soon she began to 
feel warm and comfortable in spite of the chill 
wind which sang and sighed through the pine- 
trees; and then presently she noticed that the 
little one was wrapped in a soft fleecy white 
coat, and had grown warm and rosy; and as 
she shook out her skirt, she found folds of the 
same soft, fleecy stuff falling about herself ; and 
it seemed to her that she could not remember 
what cold was. 

After a time they parted with the little group, 
at the cross-roads, and Marjorie and the Dream 
walked on in silence for a long way. At last 
the Dream spoke. 

“Are you thinking?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “I am thinking about 
watching for my brothers on the way, and about 
motives. If your motive isn’t good, you are 
uncomfortable in your heart, whether any other 
trouble comes of it or not; but if it is good. 


33 


"through the Woods 

then you can know that everything will be all 
right, and you needn’t worry about results.” 

“What makes a good motive?” asked the 
Dream. 

Marjorie thought for a moment. “Love,” 
she said, at last, her eyes shining. 

“Love for whom — for yourself?” asked the 
Dream. 

“ No,” said Marjorie, softly, “for my brother.” 
And then she added, with a little sigh, “Isn’t 
it odd how hard it is to keep ourselves out of 
sight when we are doing for others?” 

“Yes, but it’s worthwhile,” said the Dream, 
“even if it is hard.” 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “it surely is worth 
while.” 








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